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“I’m Young; His Friends Hate Me”
Turns out, an older man's friends aren't necessarily more mature...
by Vanessa Kitchen
I Googled him the next day, and lo and behold, right there on his college athlete stats page, was his birthdate. He was 35.
Suddenly our age spread had widened. 13 years apart. 13 years. I burst into tears in front of my computer.
I confronted him that evening on the phone. “I didn’t want to blurt out how old I was at dinner after you went on and on about what a big age difference eight years was. What was I supposed to say?” Michael protested. “You were supposed to say your real age, like I did!” I exclaimed. “I know. I know. I screwed up,” he admitted. “I was going to tell you the next time I saw you, I promise. I just…I knew you’d freak if I tacked on five more years, and we were having such a good time. I didn’t want to ruin it. I really like you, Vanessa.”
“I really like you too,” I said meekly, my anger fading. I gave in and let him off the hook, and he was so grateful. He texted me all night from his client dinner, telling me how excited he was to see me again. There weren’t any games with him—he was totally upfront about the fact that he thought we would be great together. It was so different from the guys my age I had met in the city, eager for the drunk bar make-out but far less eager to have a girlfriend. My friends couldn’t believe how old he was, but they could see how happy I was. But how could it ever work? I agonized over it for days. Did I really want to date an older man? Why couldn’t I meet a nice 25-year-old like I was supposed to? But shouldn’t my feelings matter more than an arbitrary number?
After all, Michael didn’t care. If we like each other it shouldn’t matter what age we are, he said. But it never stopped being an issue for me. I lied and told my parents that Michael was 30. I delayed taking him out with my friends because I was worried he wouldn’t fit in. And when I finally did, he didn’t. We went to a dive bar in the Lower East Side with a bunch of my friends. I cringed as Michael cracked an inappropriate joke about my girlfriend’s low-cut shirt—I think it was his attempt at “college humor.” The last straw was when he bought a round of Grey Goose shots for everyone. It was obvious to me that he was trying so hard to impress my friends, and it just made him seem even older and more out of touch. Embarrassed and enraged, I dragged him home in a huff.
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1 LEMONDROP // Feb 17, 2008 at 1:12 am
You are sooo lame. The guy needs you for sex and your pretending it’s not that. You have no where to go, because you can’t meet someone your own age and clearly have “daddy” issues. Your whining screams that you know he’s going to dump you - you just don’t know when….. can’t wait to see this unfold. You can’t even see that you sound even more juvenile than then 23. You sound pathetic and lonely……
2 Inside McCain’s Marriage // Feb 12, 2008 at 1:23 pm
[…] hero, a former prisoner in North Vietnam; she was the daughter of a wealthy beer distributor and almost 20 years his junior. They met in 1979 at a reception in Honolulu. “We both lied about our ages,” Cindy told a […]
3 Booyah! // Jan 28, 2008 at 4:00 pm
Good for you for sticking it out! Way to be adventurous - I love this article
4 YngGrl2 // Jan 23, 2008 at 7:57 pm
Anonymous, it sounds like you need to get out and let lose. Vanessa sounds like a normal 23 year old girl who has recently graduated from college and enjoying life in NYC. I think that your comment is ridiculous and completely out of line.
As for the article - I think it is great. Not only is it well written and captivating, but it also relates well to a lot of 20something NYC women. I hope to be hearing a lot more from you in the near future!
5 Anon // Jan 16, 2008 at 11:40 pm
13 years seems like a lot, but it obviously depends on the couple. I’ve found myself in almost the same situation as you, except my guy looks nowhere near his age…i.e. nobody would suspect that we’re more than five years apart (if that), and certainly not the decade that separates us. Either way, I’ve found that most of the issues are in my own head. At the end of the day age really just is a number, cliched as it may sound. Relax, let go, and enjoy it. Soulmates don’t always come in neat, “perfect” packages.
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